


A Holly Jolly Christmas

by california_112



Category: Murdoch Mysteries
Genre: Case Fic, Christmas, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:29:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28203147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/california_112/pseuds/california_112
Summary: She held up a thin, creamy envelope, and waited for a reaction, but received none. Murdoch looked confused."Forgive me, Julia, but do we know a 'William Clark'? I don't recall-""William. Lieutenant-Governor William Clark."Suddenly, he understood, and sat down quickly.-or-A special guest is inbound to the Murdoch house- which isn't quite ready to receive! With the help of their friends, will everything be ready in time for the big day?ABSOLUTELY 0% SPOILERS FOR ANYTHINGThis work will be finished as soon as possible :')
Comments: 10
Kudos: 9





	1. 21st: Getting Into The Christmas Spirit

It was generally agreed that Christmas in Toronto did not really start until the first snowfall. Though decorations appeared in businesses and homes from the middle of November, it wasn't until the city was coated with a blanket of white, crystalising churches and frosting factories, that the festive season was official. And it was only after the first snowball was craftily made and thrown at an unsuspecting target that Christmas truly began.

Detective Murdoch had mixed feelings about the holiday season, particularly after he had been on the receiving end of one such snowball from a child on the street. He would not usually have been vulnerable to this; after being forced to give up on his usual bicycle ride due to the treacherously icy roads, it was now a twenty-minute walk from his home to the station house, and he would not wish it on anyone else. Freezing winds off the great lakes seemed to find a way through his jacket, coat, shirt, and vest, chilling him thoroughly, and he found himself longing to be in uniform again, if only to receive the all-weather boots and many layers of thick serge that the constables were blessed with.

When the Detective arrived at Station House Four five days before Christmas, one such constable was waiting in the lobby, rosy cheeks matching a hand-knitted scarf. He was also holding something that looked suspiciously like-

"A sled, George?"

Constable Crabtree smiled, holding the wooden contraption up. "But not just any sled, sir, this one's got a kind of pedal system to help it go faster. I built it myself, based on something you said a few cases ago. What do you think?" His grin grew as he presented it to his mentor.

"Well, it's not got much bracing," Murdoch started, analysing it critically, "and that piece seems completely unnecessary. Also, the-"

"It looks great, bugalugs." Inspector Brackenreid interrupted. "Very seasonal."

"Thank you, sir!" Crabtree's momentarily crestfallen face broke into a grin. "I could say the same about you!"

The Inspector was looking surprisingly Christmassy, with a sprig of berried holly in his lapel and an unintentional dusting of snow on his shoulders that added to the atmosphere. Seeing that Murdoch had noticed this, he started brushing it away, rolling his eyes. "It's just started again, looks like the thick stuff."

"If it continues like this, there'll be even more traffic accidents." Murdoch predicted gloomily. "Why can't people just stay off the roads?"

"Lighten up, Murdoch, it is the season of family and festivity." Brackenreid clapped one of his detectives on the shoulder just as the other emerged from the bullring, scratching his chin. "Watts! Anything going on?"

He hoped it wouldn't be anything serious; they'd finally closed a murder case the previous day, and didn't want anything bigger than the usual stacks of paperwork this side of Christmas Day. As Watts looked up, seeming surprised to be addressed, he blinked, marshalling his thoughts. "Inspector, Detective, Constable…"

"We're not naming the hierarchy, Watts, spit it out."

"There's been a collision at Elm and Jubilee." He said bluntly. "I was just going out to attend the scene, provided, of course, that I can locate my coat…"

Watts moved towards the rack of various overcoats, scarves, and hats which adorned one wall of the lobby, sorting through them with no apparent system.

"Uh, Detective, I'll go," Murdoch stepped in reluctantly, continuing as a sudden avalanche of fabric began, "I'm already…wearing…mine."

He received a flash of a grateful smile before Watts had to return to pinning the coats to the wall, Crabtree helping him to hang them back up again and save a few items from the slush-covered floor after placing his sled carefully in a corner. Brackenreid took one look at the calamity and turned on his heel.

"Snow's not that bad, we should make good time."

"But inspector," Crabtree called out, "I wanted to ask you about-"

"Later, Crabtree!" Brackenreid called behind him, as he and Murdoch disappeared into the fast-falling snow outside.

* * *

When Detective Murdoch arrived home that evening, he was cold, tired, and low on patience. It felt wrong to think it, but he was almost sad that their murder case was over; the day had been occupied by a monotonous mix of attending traffic accidents and trying not to lose any fingers doing paperwork in his freezing office. He was determined, however, not to take out his anger on Julia, instead planning to go to bed early and hopefully not disturb her; but, between accidentally closing the door with more force than intended and stamping his feet both to remove the snow and attempt to restore circulation, he made enough noise to summon his wife from the kitchen. She greeted him with a kiss.

"How was today?"

"Cold." Murdoch replied, hanging up his scarf and hat. "I spent half my time attending traffic accidents, most caused by automobiles, and the other half trying to do paperwork in that icebox of a station house." He hung up his coat angrily, then softened. "Sorry. I'm just looking forward to a bit of a break."

Julia looked concerned. "Is the heating broken then?"

"I don't think it was ever working…" he replied, as they made their way to the living room. "How was your day? Anything happening at the hospital?"

"Oh, nothing interesting." Julia said dismissively. "But, I've got something that will cheer you up," she continued, barely controlling a smile, "there's a letter arrived from William Clark."

She held up a thin, creamy envelope, and waited for a reaction, but received none. Murdoch looked confused.

"Forgive me, Julia, but do we know a 'William Clark'? I don't recall-"

"William. _Lieutenant-Governor_ William Clark."

Suddenly, he understood, and sat down quickly. "You don't mean-"

"The Lieutenant Governor of Ontario!" She now smiled broadly, bouncing slightly.

Murdoch simply looked confused, and slightly worried. "What did he want? Was it about the constabulary?"

"No, it was about us. Our house." She pulled the letter out, taking a moment to re-read the text. "William, he heard about our modern design, and wants to visit!"

"That's wonderful!" Murdoch replied, sitting forwards. "Why, in the new year, I'm sure we could-"

"So I invited him for Christmas!" The detective's train of thought screeched to a halt, but Julia continued. "Well, not all of Christmas, just the afternoon of Christmas Day. He said he was coming to Toronto, and we hadn't got anything planned, so…" She suddenly saw his expression- of shock. "…you don't approve?"

"I…I'm not sure what to think!" Murdoch considered for a moment. "I'm thrilled that Lieutenant-Governor Clark wants to see our house, but…Christmas Day? Could it not have waited until Boxing Day at least?"

"He's leaving Toronto that morning." Julia mirrored her husband, dropping into her armchair. "I'm sorry for not consulting you William, I really should have."

"Well, it's not that…my only real concern is that it's our first Christmas here," he gestured to the open-plan living space, still trying to marshal his thoughts, "and…oh, I don't know. This isn't what I expected."

Julia looked back at the letter, and there was a minute of silence. "I can always cancel."

"Oh no, don't do that!" Murdoch reached out and took his wife's hand. "It's not what I expected, but I'm sure it will be wonderful. The Lieutenant-Governor of the province, in our house! At Christmas, no less!" He smiled, rapidly warming to the idea. "And we really didn't have anything planned."

Doctor Ogden leapt up. "So you're happy with it?"

"Yes!"

They stood up and hugged, both happy to go along with the plan as long as the other truly wanted it. Murdoch then read the letter for himself, and noted that though it was on official stationery, the message was quite personal. Clarke had heard of their new home whilst planning his Christmas trip to Toronto, and wondered if he might have the pleasure of joining them for part of the festive season. He would be in town from the morning of Christmas Eve to midday on Boxing Day.

"Julia," Murdoch said, suddenly thinking of something, "what about our house?"

"What about it? It's what he's coming to see."

"But on Christmas Day…both of us have been so busy at work, we haven't had time to put up any decorations."

They both surveyed the space, a lack of tinsel, tree, or any other decorations conspicuous.

"What do we have already?" Julia asked, walking to one of their large cupboards.

"We have…nothing." Murdoch peered into the dark, empty recess. "The decorations the hotel put up were usually enough, and before that I had no real cause to decorate."

"Neither did I." She closed the cabinet. "Oh, William, I really didn't think this through, did I?"

"Not to worry, I will sort something out." Murdoch smiled, getting excited. "Tomorrow, I'll go out and buy some- I'll ask the others at the station house what they think would be best, and I'll organize it all."

Julia smiled fondly at her husband. "William, for someone who was so opposed to the idea, you're very keen to please."

"I'm just getting into the Christmas spirit!" he returned, before moving past her to the kitchen, humming a carol under his breath.


	2. 22nd: Daunting Prospects

Having worked through his lingering concerns, Detective Murdoch awoke the next morning completely on board with the Lieutenant-Governor's visit. On his walk to the station house, brisker than usual as temperatures continued to plummet, he started to make plans, working on a virtual blackboard in his mind. By the time he arrived at work, three clear categories had emerged: guests, food and drink, and the all-important decorations. Although these were all daunting prospects to organize in essentially just three days, Murdoch already had an idea of how to solve the first one.

"Inspector," he greeted his superior with a smile, "are you busy this festive season?"

Slightly suspicious, Brackenreid looked up from where he sat his desk, ensconced in several more layers than usual. "Not particularly, Margaret doesn't want to go far if there's going to be heavy snow." he glanced out the window. "Which there is, if this lot keeps up."

"Well, how about coming to my house?" Murdoch realised how childish the invitation sounded, and sought to clarify. "I'm hosting a small Christmas party, in honour of Lieutenant-Governor Clarke's visit."

This time the Inspector visibly started. "How do you know about that? It's meant to be a secret!"

"Oh, everybody knows that Governor Clarke is coming, sir." Crabtree had let himself in through the bullring door. "It was in this morning's newspaper, look."

He held out his copy, only to have it snatched off him by the Inspector. After a few moments of reading, it was dropped to the desk with distain.

"Well, I guess it's not a secret anymore." Brackenreid huffed. "I've known for about a week, but wasn't meant to tell anyone…How'd you find out, anyway Murdoch? I didn't think you read-" -he paused to check the title- "-'The Toronto Tattler'."

"I don't, sir," the Detective clarified, "he told me personally. He wrote and asked to visit Julia and I's house, and he's coming on the afternoon of Christmas Day."

"So that's what the party's for!" Brackenreid smiled. "Well, I've love to come. Meeting the Lieutenant-Governor isn't something you get to do every day."

Crabtree put together the pieces that he'd heard. "Detective, William Clarke is coming to your Christmas party?"

"Well, I'm only having the party because he's coming, George," Murdoch clarified, "but yes, he is coming. And so are you, if you'd like to?"

"Coming to what?" Watts appeared behind Murdoch, even more hunched over than usual, one side of his coat and hat particularly covered in snow, with that side of his face looking red and cold.

"Ah, Watts, to my Christmas party." Murdoch smiled. "You're invited as well, if you'd care to."

"I would…yes. Thank you, detective."

He seemed oddly grateful to be invited to something, yet also a little uncomfortable. Murdoch remembered something.

"Oh, unless you're busy with Hanukkah celebrations?"

"No, those ended a few days ago. Not that I'm particularly devout to either religion, but I was invited, and…" Watts shrugged.

"How was it?" Crabtree asked.

"It went very well! I've never participated before, but Sarah and her family were very kind to me." He smiled. "I have been invited to spend other holidays with them, as well."

"That's brilliant, Watts, well done." Brackenreid smiled.

"So I can count on the three of you to attend?" Murdoch asked, happy that this had worked out. "It starts at midday on Christmas day."

"We'll be there." Crabtree agreed. "It'll be thrilling to meet the Lieutenant-Governor, I must say. And to see your house, all done up for Christmas!"

Murdoch suddenly looked awkward. "Well, there is something else that I was hoping for suggestions on…" The others looked at him expectantly. "We haven't decorated yet, and-"

"-you're expecting to find anything decent now?" Inspector Brackenreid shook his head. "Really, Murdoch, my wife couldn't find a decent tree on the first of December, let alone now."

"Well, sir, she must have been looking in all the wrong places." Crabtree said knowingly. "My neighbour said that his brother's cousin's aunt's-"

"Get to it, Crabtree." Brackenreid interrupted.

The Constable blushed slightly. "Well, my neighbour told me that the best trees come from the plantation near South Baymouth, and they only start selling them on the twentieth. There should be plenty left, even now."

"South Baymouth, George? Isn't that on Manitoulin Island?"

"Almost two hundred miles away…" Watts put in, consulting the Inspector's map of the province.

"I could get there and back in a couple of days." Crabtree fixed the Inspector with a questioning stare, asking his question silently.

Brackenreid sighed, considering what was being asked. Finally, after little deliberation, he acquiesced. "Alright, Crabtree, but only this once, and only because it's the Lieutenant-Governor. You've got all the time you need."

"Thank you, sir!" He beamed around the room, and Murdoch dug in his pockets.

"Here's some money, George, it should cover it."

Crabtree pocketed the notes, looking forward to his special quest, and announced his plan. He was to take a coach the next morning, after wrapping up his work duties as well as he could, hoping to get the tree and start back, maybe staying overnight at somewhere before arriving at the Murdoch-Ogden residence in the morning of Christmas Eve. That way, there would surely be enough time to place it, decorate it, and get everything else ready before they each dispersed to their separate homes and prepared for the holy day.

"By everything else, I presume you mean you also need to source some decorations?" Watts questioned, and Murdoch confirmed. "I know a particularly fine shop in Parkdale, if you like I could…?"

"That would be excellent, thank you Watts."

"Not on your work hours, I hope." the Inspector said, raising his eyebrows at the prospect of losing another officer.

Watts looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Well, in truth, their opening hours are very limited at this time of year, and-"

"Oh, alright, you can go as well. I hope you know that you're making a lot of work for yourself with all these errands, Murdoch!"

"That's fine, sir, I'm glad for the help." The detective went through his mental list of party elements, landing on only one missing element. "Can any of you recommend somewhere to find some suitable foodstuffs?"

"Oh, Murdoch, leave that to me." Brackenreid insisted, standing up to pitch his proposition. "I happen to know that my wife is itching for something to do- she's decorated our house to death, and is starting to reorganize the tinsel, if you can believe such a thing. I'm sure she'd be over to moon to play chef to the Lieutenant-Governor of our province."

Murdoch was thrilled- Margaret Brackenreid was a notoriously good cook. "Well, if you're sure, that would be lovely! I must telephone Julia, tell her how well this is all going." With that, he hurried off to his office, and the others exchanged smiles before hurrying to complete their day's duties, all eager to give Lieutenant-Governor Clarke the best party that Toronto Christmas could offer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its heating up...all feedback is appreciated!


	3. 23rd: Festive Errands

Arriving at the station house the next morning, Detective Murdoch was only briefly confused by the lack of his colleagues- until he found the large pile of extra paperwork on his desk, and remembered that they were out on their festive errands. Settling down as close to his portable heater as he could, he began to fill in the files of forms, wondering how they were all getting on.

* * *

Constable Crabtree's plan had been going well. He had woken early, and having finished all his urgent duties the previous day, did not have to make a detour to the station house before arriving at the coach stop. After only a short wait, he was packed like a sardine among a host of other passengers making their Christmas pilgrimages to see friends and family, parcels and elbows sticking in his back and ribs. With the outside temperature below freezing even in the city, however, and having discarded his thick uniform in favour of his warmest civilian dress, he was not altogether annoyed at the warmth the close contact provided him with.

As the coach rattled along the road out of Toronto, the wonderful winter scenery slowly slid by. Many of the more rural houses had foot-deep causeways in the snow leading to their front doors, and a few of the larger mansions looked like gingerbread houses. Towns had Christmas trees displayed in their centres, and shops were showing windows full of colourful toys and gifts.

It was only when the coach reached Barrie that his plan started to stutter. Already it was midday, and George was beginning to realise that his estimates of a journey time had been wildly inaccurate; at this rate, he would be lucky to arrive at the Tobermory ferry station by nightfall, let alone make the crossing to South Baymouth and the Christmas tree plantation. Desperate not to let the detective down, he set about finding a faster means of transport.

* * *

Back in Toronto, Detective Watts was preparing to make his way to the decoration shop in Parkdale. More snow had fallen overnight, covering the slush-turned-ice that covered the streets with a deceptively innocent layer of snow, and he had no desire to fall victim to an avoidable accident. Wrapped up in jumper, coat, scarf, gloves, and hat, he was beginning to think that even if he did fall over, he was padded enough to survive without a scratch.

He met Detective Murdoch by chance in the lobby, and though he was perfectly prepared to pay for the decorations out of his own pocket, the detective forced several notes on him before returning to his office. Shrugging, Watts hunched his shoulders and buried his face in his scarf, stepping out into the wintry city.

As he made his way through the streets of Toronto, making for Parkdale, some of the indifference to the season started to thaw in him. The snow had a certain mathematical beauty to it, how it fell in perfect drifts over every object it encountered, and left the harsh buildings rounded- almost softened. Horses pulling carriages had a dusting in their manes, and almost every hat was iced with it- now including his, as another snow squall started. The streets emptied a little, allowing him to make better time, and he was at the shop within a few minutes.

He had hoped the queue would be short, but was surprised to find it non-existent- and further surprised to see the state of the storefront. Every pane of glass was smashed, and the shelves had been emptied. Elaborate displays of winter scenes had been crushed as though by a stampede, and the proprietor was nowhere to be seen.

* * *

Barrie, it seemed, was not somewhere that people wanted to leave quickly. After enquiring at several promising places, Crabtree was forced to conclude that the only thing faster than the coach would be an automobile, which he could not even afford to consider, let alone rent. Returning to the coach station, there was one due to leave for Owen Sound in just five minutes. If another solution was going to present itself, it had better do it quickly.

With no warning, one did, and in the most extravagant style- rounding a corner with great kerfuffle and overturning an orange stand, the rider of an agitated horse bought his steed to a stop, jumping to the pavement and throwing the reins away. Running towards the coach stop, he pushed rudely past through the queue and accosted the driver.

"Is this the coach that goes via Collingwood?"

"Yes, sir," the driver began uncertainly, "but-"

"Thank goodness." The man jumped to the pavement again, then pushed his way aboard. "I've got a ticket, I've got a ticket- this is a big business deal, I'm not missing it for anything."

Seeing his opportunity, Crabtree pushed his way forwards. "Sir, your horse!"

The man opened his window and leant out. "Yes? What about it?"

"She seems a fine beast- how much do you want for her?"

"Want for her?" The man laughed. "When this deal goes through, I'll have a thousand horses if I want them. You take her, if you want her, and Merry Christmas to you."

Crabtree was stunned. "Thank you, my good man! The same to you!" Sparing only the time to tip his hat, he ran back to the beast, and mounted hesitantly. He and horses had never quite had an affinity, but he'd seen Detective Murdoch ride enough times, and he'd picked up a few tips. Flicking the reins, he trotted out of town, breaking into a gallop on the open road to Tobermory.

* * *

As he remained standing outside the remnants of the shop, Watts suddenly heard a gasp, then running footsteps from his right. He turned just in time to avoid a figure running towards him, but caught the man as he attempted to enter the shop.

"That is evidence, sir, you cannot-"

"But it's my shop!"

"Sir, there's glass everywhere-"

"My wares, my business, my-"

"Sir!"

Finally, the man stilled in the Detective's grasp, then turned around suddenly. "Who are you? Are you the man who-"

"Detective Watts, Toronto Constabulary." Watts flashed his badge briefly, unwilling to part his layers for too long, and the man slackened. "I had hoped to buy some of your excellent wares for a friend of mine."

"And I…would usually have been able to sell them to you." The man took out a handkerchief, wiping his eyes. "Grösch- Herr Oskar Herr Grösch. This is- was- my shop." He suddenly looked up. "You are a police detective? Do you know what happened?"

"Unfortunately not," Watts replied, quietly angry, "but I intend to find out."

Grösch looked slightly surprised, but mainly grateful, and waited patiently as Watts walked a short distance to put in a call to the station house about the situation. Though he was informed he was out of his jurisdiction, Watts made sure that his tone of voice left Inspector Brackenreid in no doubt that nothing would take him off the case, and he gained a promise that Brackenreid to argue in his favour with the appropriate Inspector. Hanging up, it was short wait for constables to arrive before Watts shepherded Herr Grösch to a nearby teahouse, and started to get to grips with the problem as they sat down to an early lunch.

* * *

As well-bred as it was, the mare Crabtree rode still had limits, and these became clear just as the sun was beginning to set in front of him. Dutifully, he stopped at the next small town he came across, which a kind stranger told him was called Cruickshank, and the same kind stranger was quick to take up his offer of a tired though expensive horse for a refreshed though much cheaper one. After a quick meal in the town's only tavern, he mounted again and rode into the gathering dusk, hoping feverishly to make some decent progress before night fell properly.

In this he was almost successful; Stokes Bay was only about twenty miles from Tobermory, he was told, and he should be able to get their late that evening if he was lucky. That he was, as a goods wagon headed there was willing to take him as passenger, in return for the use of his horse. Too tired to care much, George agreed, laying down in the wagon and soon rocked to sleep by the peaceful, uneven rhythm of the wheels.

* * *

After his meeting with Herr Grösch finished, and he had taken the report from the attending detective, Watts returned to his desk at Station House Four. Luckily, his counterpart at the scene had been only too glad to have the case taken away from him, as he had a wife and young children, and hoped to spend the festive season with them. Satisfied with his good deed, Watts mulled over the details.

There had definitely been a break in, but it had been more than that- only one of the massive windows would need to be broken to gain entry, yet all of them were in pieces. A rough estimate placed the crime at some point during the night, though this was really just a guess, as there were no witnesses to be found in the surrounding shops. Grösch could think of no enemies, and as a widower he didn't even have any close family to comfort him. Watts had promised to find the culprits in a heartbeat, determined that the man should have some better news for Christmas.

The pace of his enquiries leapt when one of the constables turned up a large shard of glass with most of a handprint on it- as well as a good deal of blood. After carefully taking the fingerprints, and first asking Murdoch's advice for a starting point, he began looking through their massive index books of fingerprints, hoping that the culprit was now within his grasp.

* * *

Murdoch returned home that evening to give Julia a full run-down on the day's events, though not knowing the various difficulties that his constable had encountered. Julia was worried that Watts' progress was impeded, but was reassured by her husband- the man was a fine detective, and he would not stop at anything to get justice for Herr Grösch and decorations for their home. As snow began to fall once more, the pair huddled under their thick sheets, optimistic that everything would come through in the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> long chapter for today :)


	4. 24th: The Last Minute

Doctor Ogden had Christmas eve off from work to prepare for both Christmas Day and the party, though as none of the errands had so far come through, she spent most of the morning wrapping presents for various friends and relatives who were due to visit over the festive period. Just before midday, she was interrupted by a knock at the door, and answered it to let in a squall of snow, several large boxes, and a cold, tired Inspector Brackenreid.

"Here's the food, Doctor," he opened, "I expect Murdoch told you to I was to deliver."

After hurrying him inside and closing the door, Julia took some of the boxes, and they went through to the kitchen together. "Tom, these smell wonderful!"

"Margaret put her heart and soul into them." He said. "She's looking forward to meeting the Lieutenant-Governor tomorrow."

"So am I," Julia returned, "it's such an honour. And for Christmas day, too!"

"How's everything else coming on?" Brackenreid asked, looking around the almost-empty main room. "Is it coming on?"

"William assures me that everything's going to plan." the Doctor said with a smile. "I'm sure that by this evening, the house will be like a winter wonderland."

"Well, I look forward to seeing it. Until tomorrow!" He stepped out into the storm once more, and Julia sighed.

Detective Murdoch had promised that the decorations and tree were on their way, but surely they should have arrived by now. As she began prearranging the food on various plates and platters, Julia wondered how the others were getting along with their quests.

* * *

Crabtree had been jolted awake far too early that morning as the goods wagon pulled into Tobermory. After thanking the driver for his kindness, he made his way to the ferry terminal through gusts of freezing wind coming off Lake Huron, huddling in the corner of the shed he was shown to until the ferry was ready to go just as dawn was breaking.

Laden as it was with all the last-minute letters and packages for Manitoulin island, Crabtree was forced to spend the crossing on the deck, with a view of the bleak waters of Lake Huron to help him pass the time. This got old after the first couple of minutes, with anything of interest concealed in thick mist, but Crabtree was so fatigued that he found himself dozing off against the railing, only to be jerked awake as another wave rocked the boat. A couple of times, he was sick.

Finally, after all he had gone through, he arrived in South Baymouth, which was really just a loose collection of houses spaced widely apart, half-buried under several feet of snow. Walking down the main street, he quickly spotted the Christmas Tree vendor, and seeing the feebly swinging sign he let out a sigh of relief. There were still some left for sale, his journey hadn't been for nothing- now, he just had to get it to back to Detective Murdoch in time for Christmas day.

* * *

Even earlier that morning than Crabtree had been woken, Detective Watts was going through the fingerprint files at Station House Four. Even though he'd accidentally fallen asleep at his desk for a few hours, he was still only half awake and the constant use of the magnifying glass was beginning to give him a headache. He hardly had to look at the reference fingerprints anymore, so ingrained on his mind were they, but he still almost skipped past the match when he came to it.

"Charles Denver," he said aloud, even though there was nobody in the station house at six in the morning to hear him, "that's my thief."

Now that he knew wo the culprit was, he didn't want to waste another minute, and wrote a hurried note to Detective Murdoch as to his findings. Wrapping up again in all his layers, scarf wound tightly around his face and coat button tightly, he headed out into the building snowstorm to find his thief.

* * *

The ferry ride back to Tobermory was even worse than on the way out, with a storm clearly brewing. Savage winds tossed the ferry around, and the captain only just managed to stay on course, saying that this was likely to be their last trip of the day. Crabtree was just glad that he'd made it, shuddering to think of the consequences of him being trapped on Manitoulin Island.

When they finally docked again, it took him a while first to get the tree to dry land without damaging it, then to regain his composure before seeking a way back to Toronto. The goods wagon with his horse attached had long since disappeared, and with the snow falling fast, it didn't seem as though another would be going through soon. Not that that would have been much help; the tree he had chosen was so large that it would need a wagon all to itself for him to get anywhere. That was an idea, a wagon- but that would take far too much time to find. The next best thing would have to do, and he set off to try and find it.

* * *

The address on Charles Denver's file had been only a few streets from the shop he had apparently robber, so Watts had no trouble in finding his way to it. A slightly more run-down neighbourhood than its neighbouring areas, it was well-decorated nonetheless, and the detective couldn't quite believe that any of the inhabitants would go so far as to vandalise a shop. Though, as the Denver address turned out to be a small shop, he certainly had motive- the shelves were not too full, except a notable few at the back, stocked with designs which he recognized from Herr Gröscher's posters. Eyes narrowing, Watts pushed open the door, making for the counter.

The man who was there looked far too smug for Watts' liking, though it was clearly Charles Denver, and it was almost with a leer that he showed off the shelves of 'new' decorations. He picked down one with a bandaged hand, handing it unsuspectingly to Watts, who inspected it carefully. It was one of the exact ones which Oskar had described as stolen.

"Tell me, where did you get these?" He asked, examining the wooden star.

"Oh, I…made them." Denver struggled to the answer, another clear indicator of guilt.

"It's just that they look a lot like some I saw at Herr Gröscher's shop," Watts baited, "but these couldn't be those. Those were stolen just yesterday."

Denver's smile became fixed, and it was clear that he understood the jab. His voice hardened as he said "I have an even wider selection just at the back, if you'd be interested, sir?"

Thinking that this would give the clinching evidence, Watts followed his suspect through the curtain to the storeroom. Seeing the boxes, the Gröscher branding not even attempting to be hidden, the detective knew he had his man. Just as he was turning to confront him, even beginning to reveal his badge, there was a sudden biting pain in the back of his head, and the world went black.

* * *

It wasn't exactly what he needed, but it was better than nothing. It wasn't like the sled he had presented earlier in the week, but he hadn't had nearly as much time, and Crabtree through that it was really quite a good effort, considering. It carried the tree well enough, and that was all that really mattered, though he was starting to wish there was something to carry him. Dragging something so heavy through miles and miles of pseudo-snowstorm did take something out of a man, and it had been taken out of Crabtree long ago. Yet, still he soldiered on, determined to arrive in Toronto before it was too late.

Ten miles on, he had to stop to rest, before he collapsed. Dropping the rope that he had been hauling, he sat down next to his magnificent spruce, leaning back into it slightly, and rubbed his hands together. This wasn't the way to spend Christmas Eve. It was midday, he should have been almost back by now, but instead, he was huddled in a freezing wilderness, hoping for a miracle to spirit him and his charge away. It wouldn't come, and he knew it wouldn't come, so he stood up, banding down for the rope again. And it was just then that he heard a familiar sound- one that he'd read stories of ever since he was a boy. The clip-clopping of hooved feet, and the distinctive jingle of sleigh bells.

* * *

Detective Murdoch arrived slightly late that morning due to the mounting snowstorm in Toronto, but found that this did have its advantages. There were no waiting reports of traffic accidents, as even the most adventurous of travellers were staying inside, and the only thing to be done was one case file before he could theoretically go home again. However, the note that he found on his desk from Detective Watts put paid to all thoughts of that. It said that he planned to be back by seven o'clock; as it was now nearing eight, something must have gone wrong. Extracting the necessary address from the mess of Watts' own desk and commandeering a constable, he headed out again, the two of them having to raise their arms as though to ward off a blow against the blinding snow.

They arrived quickly at Denver's address, mostly from having jogged lightly to keep warm, and went in quickly to get out of the wind. The shop was dingy, but the decorations described in Watts' scattered notes on the shelves were clear to view, as was the man sitting behind the counter.

"Charles Denver, you're under arrest for theft." Murdoch opened, not willing to beat about the bush, but at this, Denver took flight.

He didn't get far. The constable grabbed him as he made for the door, pinning his arms to his sides with a strong grip and reducing him to an irate nutcracker-esque figure, who stared defiantly as Murdoch approached.

"We have the evidence on you, Mr Denver, a whole palm print from when you broke into Mr Gröscher's shop to steal these decorations."

"They're all mine!" Denver spat. "I made them all. You've got nothing."

"There was also a great deal of blood on that shard, tell me- why is your hand bandaged?" Denver paled, unable to find an excuse for that. "And these are 'new', are they? New to you, certainly."

The thief seemed to lose his resolve. "I was all sold out!" Denver gushed. "I had a Christmas rush, and I needed more stock, and-"

"Where is Detective Watts." Murdoch asked coldly, the theft now forgotten and his expression like ice.

Denver looked completely terrified, shaking his head, but the detective only had to take one step forward to make him whisper "In the back…"

As Murdoch hurried through the curtain, it was just in time to see Watts beginning to groan, sprawled on the ground in an awkward position. As he helped him to sit up, a hand flying to the back of Watts' head told Murdoch everything he needed to know.

"Watts, are you alright?"

"Did you get Denver?"

"Yes, he won't get away." The detective helped his fellow to his feet, and he swayed slightly as he stood. "Why didn't you bring back up? It was clear enough from his unnecessary assault of the shop that he was violent!"

"I didn't think of that," Watts admitted quietly, trying to conceal the small amount of dried blood in his dark hair, "I thought I could handle it."

"Well next time…" Murdoch noticed that Watts really wasn't feeling his best. "…next time, call someone." They returned to the shop floor. "For now, let's get this thief back to the station house, and then you can return these decorations their their rightful owner."

Watts nodded tamely, knowing that the Detective was right. After shepherding the defeated Denver to the cells, he insisted that he was well enough to return the decorations to their rightful owner, then came to the station house again, his arms full of boxes.

"Herr Gröscher gave me these as a thank you for returning the rest of his stock," he explained to a delighted Murdoch, "should I take them to your house now?"

"Why don't you, Watts, then take the day off." Watts looked at him inquisitively. "There's nothing much happening here, and you do have a head injury."

His only reply was a shy nod of thanks as he once more sallied into the storm, glad that his errand at least had been completed.

* * *

When Murdoch went home that afternoon after dealing with one last traffic accident, he was surprised to see Watts standing on a stool in his living room, carefully pinning wooden decorations around the windows. The rest of the room was also looking far more festive, and a wonderful smell lingered in the hallway. Julia met him with a smile, gesturing around them.

"What do you think?"

"It's…well…very festive, Julia." He took his wife aside slightly. "Why is Watts here? I thought he was just going to drop off decorations."

"He has a head wound, William, I think he might be lightly concussed."

"That bad." They watched as the detective wobbled on his perch, slightly off-balance. "I knew he'd been hit, but surely not that hard? And if so, shouldn't he be at the hospital?"

"I wouldn’t want to send anyone out in that storm, William, you looked like a snowman when you came in and that was only a twenty-minute walk. The hospital is on the other side of the city." She stared at her husband firmly. "Also, it's dark, and no transport is going to be running anymore. I've insisted that he stay here overnight."

"But Christmas day, doesn't he have family he celebrates with?"

"Apparently not, judging by the speed he accepted my offer with!" Julia smiled. "He'll just be arriving at the party early, William."

"As long as he'll be alright."

Their conversation was cut off by a knock at the door, which was opened to reveal another snow-encrusted figure- Constable Crabtree. As Julia rushed to pull him inside, seeing that he was shivering profusely, he turned a little, and their eyes were drawn to a spectacular sight: a sleigh, pulled by a troop of four horses, sat at the kerb, loaded with a small man in furs who was now extracting a large Christmas tree from the back. Both Watts and Murdoch helped him to get it inside, then he tipped his cap without a word and hurried down the path, driving away into the night-time blizzard. Everyone was silent in awe except Crabtree, who's teeth chattered loudly.

After a moment, Doctor Ogden pushed him into a fireside chair, trying to warm him up. He'd clearly been frozen stiff from sitting in the sleigh seat for hours on end, not dressed properly for the weather, and it would be going against the grain if she allowed him home in his state.

"Constable, you're staying the night here." She announced, to the surprised of everyone else in the room.

"But-"

"No 'but's, you're frozen solid!" Julia laughed. "It's not how I saw it, but I'm sure he won't mind."

"Who won't mind, Doctor?" Watts enquired.

"Santa Claus. He'll just have more presents to fit down our chimney." She laughed at their confusion. "What fun tomorrow is going to be!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaa this was so rushed and late i am very sorry

**Author's Note:**

> christmas fic christmas fic
> 
> Not quite as long as my usual offering, but it's here nonetheless! A chapter a day up to and including Christmas Day, let's hope I make it... ;)


End file.
